


Welling From Beneath

by Trobadora



Category: Once Upon a Time in Wonderland (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fear, M for dark themes, Mental Torture, Non-Consensual Kissing, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28569477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: The Jabberwocky is imprisoned, held by the Vorpal Blade, unable to escape. She cannot touch Anastasia, cannot possibly reach. But fear wells up and envelopes her, all the same.
Relationships: Background Knave of Hearts | Will Scarlet/Red Queen | Anastasia, Jabberwocky/Red Queen | Anastasia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: fandomtrees





	Welling From Beneath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScQ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScQ/gifts).



The Jabberwocky isn't moving.

Anastasia is brushing her hair, getting ready for a celebration - one year of peace in Wonderland - and the Jabberwocky is in her room. She's lounging sideways on a stuffed armchair, watching.

She doesn't speak, doesn't come closer. She's just _there_ at the edge of Anastasia's field of vision, long white hair and long legs dangling, hands held up, examining her claws. She does nothing, only exists, and it's enough to make Anastasia break into a cold sweat.

The Jabberwocky's existence in general is threat enough already. Her presence here spells imminent destruction, spells ruin. If she's doing nothing now, it's only in anticipation, letting Anastasia's fear grow on its own before she claws into her mind to stoke it further.

This should not be happening, Anastasia thinks desperately. Didn't they win? Weren't they safe? They did, didn't they? 

So how can the Jabberwocky be here? Shouldn't she be -

Anastasia jerks awake, heart hammering. She's in her bed, Will asleep by her side. No one else is there.  
  


* * *

  
  
It's only a nightmare. The Jabberwocky is imprisoned in the dungeons, held there by the Vorpal Blade, unable to escape. She cannot touch Anastasia, cannot possibly reach. Cannot torment her again.

It's only a nightmare: Anastasia clings to that, wraps herself in reason, in better knowledge.

But the following night, again, the Jabberwocky is there in her dreams. And the next.  
  


* * *

  
  
The third night, the Jabberwocky is leaning on the dresser beside Anastasia, elbows on the surface and chin propped on the heels of her hands. Her claws are splayed, like this - displayed. Anastasia shivers.

Her skin is tight, panic shivering underneath. Her stomach is a clot of tension. And she keeps sitting there, keeps brushing her hair, cannot move away.

Cannot even cower in the corner, though she wants to - for all the good it would do.

The Jabberwocky grins at her, wide and bright. "There's my little queen," she says, just before Anastasia once again wakes.  
  


* * *

  
  
Will holds her tight, tries to soothe her. Work keeps her busy. But her thoughts skitter away from the present at the slightest unexpected movement now: a curtain blown by a gust of wind, a servant passing through, a bird in the sky above. The rustle of leaves as she walks beneath a tree.

She cannot calm herself. Cannot find peace. She's not strong enough - a sad excuse for a queen.

That's the Jabberwocky talking, of course. Whether she's here or not, a year ago the Jabberwocky got her claws into Anastasia's mind, and the scars remain. 

She cannot sleep deeply any more: the Jabberwocky is always there. Shadows grow under her eyes.

She is helpless, worthless, lost.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Ana," Will promises, "Ana, we'll get rid of her. I swear, we'll find a way."

Face buried in Will's shoulder, she doesn't voice her deepest fear: that it's not the Jabberwocky reaching into her mind from the dungeons deep under the castle, where the Vorpal Blade pins her in place. 

That the fear that wells up, that envelopes her, pries her apart and shatters her every night anew, comes not from the dungeons beneath, but from her own mind.  
  


* * *

  
  
The Jabberwocky is leaning towards Anastasia, her grin feral. A claw strokes down Anastasia's cheek. "I could drink from you," she whispers, "and never stop drinking ..."

Anastasia's heart is in her throat. The barely-there scrape from the Jabberwocky's claw feels like hot metal burning on her face. She cannot run. Not from the Jabberwocky, and not from herself.

 _Are you real?_ It makes almost no difference, except that the Jabberwocky hasn't done yet what Anastasia knows she can. What she's done before. Anastasia is only afraid: terrified, but not lost in visions, not mindless. Not yet. 

_Can_ the Jabberwocky reach into her, from this distance? If she's even real.

"Can you?" she asks out loud, trembling at her own boldness.

The Jabberwocky drapes over her back, moving sinuously against her. "Come and find out."  
  


* * *

  
  
She's a queen - the White Queen. She has a duty. She can't let herself fall to the Jabberwocky's claws, or her own despair. She can't lose herself.

But the next night, the Jabberwocky's clawed fingers gently comb through her hair. "There you are," she whispers again, and Anastasia knows she's fallen already.  
  


* * *

  
  
The Jabberwocky's arm is around her shoulder, pulling her in close. "Little queen," she murmurs, mouthing against Anastasia's ear. "Listen to me. You are, aren't you? That's good."

It's not. It's the last thing she should do. She knows she's dreaming - she should be able to find a way to wake, and then to ignore what's happening. She can't.

She's frozen with fear.

A tear runs down Anastasia's cheek, and her chest heaves with each unsteady breath. "Please," she whispers, then clenches her teeth, wishing she could take the word back, swallow it down. She's not sure what she's pleading for.

But the Jabberwocky seems to know. "Yes," she murmurs, almost gently, clawed fingers stroking Anastasia's hair. "Come to me."

Her lips are soft when they close over Anastasia's. Her tongue is insistent, is everywhere, like the Jabberwocky herself. Devouring her like this, too. Anastasia's hands clench, clawed into the Jabberwocky's shoulders, holding on for dear life, anticipating -

But again, it doesn't happen. The Jabberwocky's claws don't tear into her mind. That voice doesn't reach inside, doesn't pull her into darkness. Her fear is still, as it has been since this started, all her own.  
  


* * *

  
  
Anastasia wakes with a headache, with swollen eyes. Her lips tingle, still feeling the Jabberwocky's terrifying kiss.

"That's it, we're moving away!" Will snaps, irritable with worry, with his own fear. "We can't wait any longer, we've got to do something!"

Anastasia reaches for him, pulls him into a hug. "I know," she says, though her voice shakes. She knows what she needs to do.

She needs to meet her tormentor, in truth. Even if it gets her clawed apart: she has to go the dungeons.


End file.
